Childhood
by ShareBearTheDeathBear
Summary: He was the boy next door who sacrificed your cat, Mr. Fluffles, to Satan and would affectionately leave pieces of his entrails on your doorstep as gifts. AU. – Izaya, Namie. Part IV – He's meant to break her like the cheap, plastic doll she is.
1. Sanguinely Brown Eyes

**CHILDHOOD**

**Summary: **He was the boy next door that sacrificed your cat, Mr. Fluffles, to Satan and would affectionately leave pieces of his entrails on your doorstep as gifts. AU. – Izaya, Namie.

**Author Notes: **Takes place in suburban America, just so you know.

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She still tasted bile whenever she thought back to the time it all started. The vomit that threatened to enter her mouth and stain her tongue made her shudder as she remembered that fateful day when her parents had decided to leave Uncle's mansion and make out a new life in gloriously dull suburbia. Her father spoke of the wonderful school located only a stone's throw away and her mother gushed about the all of the wonderfully domestic things that were often associated with crowded suburbs occupied by trite people and their kin. Unfortunately, Namie was only seven and seven-year-olds generally held little weight in any "adult" conversation; she was unable to voice her opposition to the horrid move and Seiji – _her beautifully adorable little brother_ – was only three and still gurgled and believed that everything and anything was edible (even if it didn't _necessarily_ fit in your mouth).

Thankfully, Namie wasn't alone during this horrific experience. She had Seiji as well as the highly esteemed and intelligent Mr. Fluffles. Mr. Fluffles was a cat of the highest caliber as well as her trusted confidante and friend. Namie had divulged all of her secrets and fantasies to this cat – _who was much more of a person rather than a cat_ – and knew that Mr. Fluffles would never disappoint her. Mr. Fluffles was about the same age as Seiji, her parents after reading child development books had decided that it would be best for Namie to hone her maternal instincts and gifted her with Mr. Fluffles a few months prior to Seiji's birth (this gift was quite possibly the sole reason Namie tolerated her parents on any level besides the fact that they had also given her Seiji).

Needless to say, Namie depended on Mr. Fluffles and Seiji since they were the only anchors that kept her tied to the despicable reality forged by her parents.

Her very first impression of the "amazing" structure that she would soon call home for eleven long and cruel years was that it had much too many windows. The man who had designed the house (as well as every other house on the block) probably had a repressed fetish for windows and was sadistic to boot. With this many windows as well as the close proximity of the houses, the overwhelming feeling of paranoia was enough to make Namie's skin crawl with anxiety. A feel of nauseous washed over Namie when she overheard her mother speaking of "play-dates" and "block parties"; apparently, she was expected to intermingle with the vermin that also lived in their godforsaken cul-de-sac.

She opened the car door, carefully ensuring that Seiji still possessed the disembodied head of a Barbie she had once owned but had given to Seiji upon realizing his love of beheading dolls, and carried the great Mr. Fluffles out the vehicle. Namie could hear her mother and father talking to another couple just a few feet away. She felt a sudden rush of paranoia knock into her, almost making her fall onto the rough asphalt road beneath her feet. She tried to be stealthy – _well, as stealthy as a precocious seven-year-old could be_ – and slowly turned her head towards the direction that she felt someone was watching her. Her gaze was directed towards the house – _that was eerily perfect with a manicured lawn and fresh paint_ – situated right next to hers, and the feeling seemed to be emanating from a window that directly faced her house. It was as though there was something examining her through a microscope.

"Namie!" She turned her head towards the woman that was her mother, "This is Mr. and Mrs. Orihara. They'll be living next door to us, and they have a son your age. Isn't that just wonderful?" Her mother had pointed towards the house that Namie was sure that someone was watching her from.

_Isn't that just wonderful?_

_Isn't that just wonderful?_

_Isn't that just wonderful?_

Namie shivered as she held Mr. Fluffles close to her chest.

It was as though Namie already knew, for a fact, that the boy was pure, unadulterated _evil_.

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Nothing happened for a few weeks – well, almost nothing. Her parents told her that it was just nerves. That she was being silly as all children are when they move into a new neighborhood – that she was just going through a phase that occurred in every childhood. But Namie knew, she knew that someone was watching her from behind a curtain. Her parents had even been so cruel as to give her the room that directly faced the house next to theirs, the Orihara residence, the source of the _evil_. Sometimes Namie would hear noises coming from the backyard of the house, scary noises that only occurred at night that no one else would hear besides her. They sounded like small animals being mutilated with a rusty fork.

Despite her parents' words, Namie found herself watching Seiji – _her dearest little brother_ – and Mr. Fluffles quite closely. If the adults in her household would not investigate the threat, she felt as though she was responsible for making sure that nothing happened to the two most precious people in her world.

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Normally, Namie could say that she tolerated her parents, perhaps even respected (to some extent) their authority over her life. They had, after all, brought her into existence and given her Seiji and Mr. Fluffles. That fact alone was probably the only reason why Namie was such an obedient little girl. Usually, she could see the wisdom in her parents' words or actions (brushing her teeth because tooth decay was an eyesore; getting enough sleep so that she wouldn't feel cranky the next day – okay, _crankier_; eating her vegetables so that she could protect her brother and companion from the demon that lived next door) so she followed their requests.

This respect was immediately killed the moment the _evil_ arrived on her doorstep with Mrs. Orihara in tow for their play-date. Namie felt herself shiver as soon as she came into contact with those dark eyes. The boy's face was adorned with a leer which her mother had foolishly misinterpreted as a charming smile. He – if it really was human – was dangerous. And her mother – _the fool_ – had brought it into her domain.

It took several choice _meows_ from Mr. Fluffles to keep Namie from maiming the very woman that had pushed her into this world– though this did little to deter her from getting crayon on her mother's prized high heels.

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The two women wandered into the kitchen to sip lemonade laced with vodka while discussing the latest scandal (_"Can you believe that they've actually gotten married? The shame of it all!"_), and left their respective offspring to their own devices. Namie had adamantly refused to even show Seiji to the spawn so she decided it would be best to take him – it – to her room.

She found herself holding her breath as he – it – examined her specimens.

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(_"Namie! Haven't I told you that it's unladylike for a young girl to have jars of dissected animals in her room?" Her mother shouted. Namie looked at her rather passively, not displaying any visible sign of guilt. Uncle had given her those specimens anyways; it wasn't like she had stolen them or anything. There was no reason for her mother to be so upset._

"_I don't really see what the problem is," her uncle calmly replied as he stepped into the room, "It's good for a young girl to have such an interest in the scientific field. With her intelligence, I have little doubt that our little Namie will be great."_

"_But, isn't it a bit – unnerving to have so many dead things in a young girl's room?" Mother's brow was still furrowed, slightly disgusted and slightly repulsed._

"_So as long as Namie isn't licking the formaldehyde off the jars, I see very little reason to worry." Her uncle smiled that crookedly crooked smile._)

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"Did you do this yourself?" For a second, Namie was slightly surprised. She had mistakenly believed that he wouldn't speak to her – none of the other boys she had ever met ever did. They simply glanced over her before looking her away – that is if they didn't call her a freak or weird.

She shook her head, still too stunned to speak. Maybe she was wrong about him. The only person that she tolerated more than her parents was her uncle who was nearly on the same level as Mr. Fluffles – only a few steps away from Seiji and her uncle had been the one to give her the specimens. Perhaps he could actually make a worthy companion. Perhaps her parents' judgment had stayed sound. . .

"Well, that's a shame. There's nothing like hearing their screams." Namie blinked in horror and a bit of awe as his words processed through her little head.

He looked at her, his leer intensifying as he leaned closer.

He laughed, "They'll do anything to avoid death." He continued to lean closer, his smirk burning into her vision, "Absolutely anything. They're so afraid of dying."

She found herself paralyzed as the reality of the situation sunk in. He – it – _was_ dangerous.

"But, you know, it's nothing compared to the real thing." He sauntered around her bedroom before cockily sitting upon her modest bed like a throne.

"The real thing?" Her voice was still, not exactly quivering but not exactly solid either. It was more like Jello™ that Namie had left out in the sun for too long, almost like a slushy-like consistency.

His smirk grew ever wider as his dark brown eyes flushed a deep crimson, "Humans."

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When the door was safely shut behind the spawn – Izaya Orihara, or as her mother called him _"The most adorably charming little boy that I have ever met."_ – Namie let out the breath that had been trapped within her lungs. Though the anxiety was still rushing through her veins, Namie chose to go watch Seiji sleep since she knew that his slow rhythmic breathing would calm her nerves. She found herself softly smiling as she watched Seiji's stomach rise and fall; she had successfully prevented the spawn from otherwise upsetting her boringly safe life.

She could still remember the way that he had uttered the word "humans", almost as though he thought he wasn't one himself. Though, Namie wondered if he really was human and if it was too late to notify the FBI that she may, in fact, be living next to an extraterrestrial organism that probably enjoyed dissecting live animals and would eventually move up the food chain to humans.

Maybe her parents were right. Izaya had failed to do anything during his visit, perhaps he was merely all bark and no bite? Maybe he was merely exploiting her paranoia simply for shits and giggles?

Namie's brow furrowed. She needed to discuss this new development with a higher authority.

"Mr. Fluffles?" The house answered with an empty echo.

"Mr. Fluffles?"

"Mr. Fluffles!"

_That damned vermin._

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The screams – Namie would never forget those screams – they haunted her in her sleep and they sang to her during the day. The bags around her eyes were so bad that even Seiji began to look at her curiously, as though his sister had morphed into some zombie that lacked sleep.

The screams only confirmed her fears – he had really taken Mr. Fluffles. She wanted to march next door and rip Izaya Orihara a new one. But Namie had never been rash and besides, she was too fearful that Seiji might be next on the monster's list.

She spent her nights praying that Mr. Fluffles didn't have to suffer too much. That at least Izaya was compassionate and would make the deed quick.

The screams said otherwise.

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Namie mourned for her companion though her parents simply told her that Mr. Fluffles had probably gotten lost in the neighborhood. They _had_ just moved in a few weeks ago. But eventually, they too caved and began to mutter silent apologies to her.

"How's about we go down to the pet store and –" Her father's smile wrenched Namie's heart.

"No."

Even her mother, a person Namie knew disliked Mr. Fluffles since she had found him puking in her shoes attempted to comfort her.

"Why don't we just build a grave for him? We could even give him a proper funeral." Her mother asked as she patted Namie's head.

"There's no point if we don't even have a body." Namie harshly rejected her proposal.

Her only solace was Seiji and Namie soon concluded that it was likely Mr. Fluffles had sacrificed himself for the boy knowing that the spawn was up to no good. That fact only made Namie mourn harder and hold her brother closer to her chest.

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One morning after Mr. Fluffles' disappearance, she found the first piece on the porch. It was rope-like and stank horribly. Flies swarmed to it and it was likely riddled with larvae and other atrocious things. Though there was no evidence supporting the fact, Namie knew from instinct that this had once been a part of Mr. Fluffles and that monster – Izaya Orihara – left it there for her to find.

He was mocking her like the way he mocked the animals before their excruciatingly painful deaths.

He was playing her, testing her for her reaction.

She ran inside the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag before sealing the piece – _of intestine?_ – and bolting upstairs to her room before her mother could catch her and scold her for playing with dead body parts.

Using the supplies found around her room, Namie quickly embalmed it. She remembered performing a similar task with her uncle in his lab back at his mansion. Before long, the piece of Mr. Fluffles was respectfully jarred and preserved.

She opened her room window, letting the stink of rotting flesh and formaldehyde float outside into the summer sky accompanying the bleeding sunset. The sense of being watched forced her to look through her window to the house next door.

The window, which was located directly across from her bedroom, was usually heavily curtained but today, Namie swore she saw a shadow as though it was watching her from behind the cloth.

And she knew that there was pair of mahogany eyes staring back at her.

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Oddly enough, she slept fitfully that night dreaming of Mr. Fluffles, Seiji and a pair of _sanguinely_ brown eyes that made her skin crawl.

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**Author Notes: **Let's just pretend that Izaya and Namie are extremely precocious for their respective ages, alright?

If you want me to continue, just drop a review.


	2. Beautiful Nightmare

**CHILDHOOD**

**SUMMARY: **Because Izaya hates normalcy and suburbs and white picket fences and the girl that lives next door who has long, dark hair and interesting specimens preserved in formaldehyde.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Thanks to everyone that reviewed the previous piece. Updates will be slow. Mentions of Shinra and Celty. Please excuse my twisted AU head-canon.

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He hates everything. Well, _nearly_ everything. He enjoys going to the local mall with his mother and wandering the long corridors as he watches the most interesting subject in the world – humans. He enjoys stealing dolls from the girls in his class and leaving their plastic body parts scattered around the playground. He _especially_ loves how none of the teachers have ever caught him studying his specimens – even when the trauma he has induced has forced one-two-three girls to change schools. His specimens are the only reason why he hasn't given way to boredom – _yet_. He knows that the elderly woman from across the street is still wary of him ever since her prized Pomeranian named Puddles went missing. The suspicion doesn't deter him; of course, it only drives him to go further. He loves watching the paranoia and fear creep onto the older woman's face as he passes her house each day.

He's been living like this for a few years now – ever since his parents trusted him enough to allow him to wander the yard, leaving him to his own devices. They, of course, were never aware of the monstrosities that occurred within their blissfully _normal_ cul-de-sac.

Izaya _hates_ normal.

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He doesn't initially _hate_ her. He had gathered this when he first stared at her from his room upstairs, watching and collecting information about her. He had known that they were getting new neighbors – their old neighbors had moved not long after the disappearance of their two cats – and had quietly anticipated their arrival. He had been excited by the possibility of new specimens – of new people to torment and examine. So imagine his horrid disappointment when the new neighbors are a _wonderfully_ young couple (much like his own parents) with two children. One gurgling blight of a son and a bored looking girl his age.

He clenches his jaw. The way the light doesn't quite reach her eyes, the way her mouth is drawn into an eternal scowl dripping of sarcasm and bad humor, the way she clutches her brother and cat – he realizes that there is something _off _about her. His mouth is drawn into a smile – _a smile so painfully wide it doesn't reach his eyes_ – and he begins to plan.

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When he doesn't sleep at night, he stares at her room through his window. Although her curtains obstruct his view, he knows that she can feel his piercing gaze – that she _knows_ that she is being examined, watched, and classified.

He plants the idea of a play-date in his mother's frightfully empty head – he never, of course, says it out right but he has learned how to get what he wants without speaking, blinking, or even breathing.

Izaya always gets what he wants even if his parents aren't aware of it.

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He is not disappointed by the look of devastation that coats her face – the way the her eyes (no longer reflecting light) go out altogether, as though she has lost the will to survive. He notes her death grip on her brother as she casts accusing glares at his house, his window and his room.

He _is_ disappointed, however, by her lack of reaction. She does nothing – she does not voice her paranoia to her parents, she does not confront him, she merely withdraws from the world.

He feels frustrated – _cheated_, even. He is angry at himself – _Why didn't he notice? Why didn't he notice how boring she was? _– for wasting time on the stupid girl. It's as though she is unfeeling – _inhuman_. And she isn't allowed to be inhuman – no one is, except for himself.

So he ignores her – _almost_.

He still finds himself staring through her window when he can't sleep.

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_("But, you know, it's nothing compared to the real thing." He sauntered around her bedroom before cockily sitting upon her modest bed like a throne._

"_The real thing?" Her voice was still, not exactly quivering but not exactly solid either. _

_His smirk grew ever wider as his dark brown eyes flushed a deep crimson, "Humans.")_

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His lip curls in displeasure when she arrives in his class and the teacher introduces her as Namie Yagiri. He prefers it when he thinks of her simply as "the-girl-who-lives-next-door" and he nearly scowls when she takes the seat in the second row – her head is directly in his line of vision.

He continues his usual routine of merciless torture (he's nearly on his sixth person right now – Izaya had graduated from girls to boys believing that it wouldn't do if he was biased with his specimens) of watching and predicting and smirking. For a while, it's easy to ignore her – she, as far as he was concerned, is nothing more than a gray, faded flower painted on the wall that no one notices.

He surrounds himself with his classmates – Izaya is popular in every aspect of the word – and gloats silently to himself when he sees her all alone, sitting in the corner of the library as she reads biology books (never _mind_ the fact that he is in the library as well, perusing the library's scant amount of sociology books without the annoyance of the usual clouts who follow him around). He revels in the difference of their lives – he has come to accept the fact that she is un-normal (_nothing_ like him, of course) merely because it is convenient and rational. She is a defective toy, nothing more and nothing less.

And, for a while, all is well.

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It occurs to Izaya nearly six months after _she_ arrived in the neighborhood that his mother is dying. His parents, however, had desperately tried to hide this simple fact from him – a foolishly, desperate attempt since Izaya _lives_ off information especially if that information has something to do with his humans. Nothing is hidden from him – like the fact that his father is having an affair with his twenty-something personal assistant.

He is quiet with his information – he doesn't let them know that he knows. Still, after his mother pukes in the toilet for the umpteenth time that week – he feels obliged to tell someone if only for his own sake (his mother is the only one who knows how he likes his chocolate milk and tuna sandwich).

He settles for Shinra Kishitani whose father is a doctor and because he knows that the boy won't divulge this information to anyone since he is nearly as unpopular as _she_ is (his decision has _nothing_ to do with the fact that he has known Shinra since he could walk or the fact that he knows about Shinra's crush on Celty Sturluson – the girl who is paralyzed – or that he trusts Shinra more than anyone else in the entire school).

He corners the boy after school and they walk home together – albeit discreetly and avoiding the fan-girls at all costs.

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"Congratulations, Izaya!" Shinra exclaims rather excitedly – too excitedly for Izaya's tastes since Izaya's interest in the matter is dwindling by the minute. He blinks at the boy's enthusiastic demeanor before twisting into a crooked smirk.

"You're going to be a brother soon!" Shinra continues.

Behind Izaya's smirk-smile is an obvious scowl.

He preferred it when he believed that his mother was dying.

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He is surprised to see her lying on her front yard, her face planted in the grass nearly unmoving – the twitch in her right leg gives away the fact that she is still alive.

Izaya isn't sure why he felt the sudden rush of adrenaline when he had first thought he had found Namie Yagiri dead on her front lawn. He files the emotion away for later analysis and continues down his driveway and into his house.

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Izaya believes that one of the worst days in his life was when the twins were born – especially since it's the day _they_ came over. _They_ were his paternal grandparents – Torakichi and Natsu Orihara. It's not as though they neglect him, in fact, they were better at spoiling him than his own parents. It was just that Izaya hates looking at them; seeing their wrinkles and laugh lines and liver spots and graying hairs and arthritis-prone joints drives him crazy like nothing else and it's then that he declares – no, _swears _that he will never grow old. **Ever**.

He's used to dealing with his grandparents for a few hours (like during Christmas or at his birthday or at his parents' anniversary) at the very most but when his mother goes into labor on Saturday morning, he's stuck with them until Sunday afternoon. The adults explain that it has to do with recovery and observation time and _blah blah blah_. All Izaya knows is that he's stuck with his grandparents with no chocolate milk for two whole days – which, in Izaya time, is _like_ three centuries.

He avoids the house knowing that they will make it smell like the elderly and his grandfather will force him onto the couch to talk to him about _the_ war and responsibility and other things Izaya doesn't really care about.

Izaya's mind begins to scream with boredom – usually he would be with a specimen but he had gotten greedy with the last one and the neighbors three doors down haven't replaced their cat yet so he's stuck with cloud watching and other mundanely stupid kiddy stuff.

"Seiji!" His ears perk up in surprise – _usually he's too busy to take notice of her actions and ongoing but today called for drastic measures_ – since he doesn't believe he's ever heard _her_ raise her voice, especially at her still gurgling little brother.

A grin spreads on him fact – _finally_, an escape from boredom.

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Mrs. Yagiri easily lets him in the house; in fact, she waves at him before leaving in her car – something about her book club or anything similarly stupidly adult-ish. He is left alone in the house with _her_ and the gurgling brother.

Things don't start off very well – she's very good at pretending that she isn't disturbed by his presence – and he quickly rediscovers why he doesn't observe Namie very often because she is, in a nutshell, _boring_. The gurgling bag of flesh is sleeping – thank (not God, of course, Izaya doesn't believe in anything as silly as _that_) – and it's just the two of them. Namie, however good she is at apathy, is still obviously perturbed by him and hasn't gotten over the cat's death quite yet – he knows because of the way she glances over her shoulder and clenches the hem of her shirt as she tries to figure out what Izaya wants (which is stupid because she _already_ knows what he wants).

She shows him a squirrel carcass though, and that is enough to rescue him from the _clinging_ monotony that is his existence. He asks her questions and she answers effectively and efficiently – apparently she's discovered something rather interesting about . . .

His mind drifts as he stares at her, pondering and formulating a plan. She isn't shy like most of the girls in his class and she isn't insecure or needy or whiny like the rest of them. She's an anomaly and has no place in any of his experiments. Yes, he needs normal people – no matter how much he _hates_ normal – because they are the most common and the most abundant. He almost does want to study her though – he wants to see if she's anything like him (a thought that is _harshly_ pushed aside because Izaya doesn't need others like him; he just needs people in general) – _he wants to break her into pieces and watch as she attempts and _fails_ to put those pieces back_. He knows that she wouldn't be like the others – Namie is tightly surrounded by her own walls and as cynical as he is.

He's decided that he is going to make Namie Yagiri – _the girl next door_ – fall in love with him.

He leers at her when she looks away because he's excited – _excited to watch her break_.

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He continues to avoid the house like the plague even when his parents return on Sunday because of all the insects that have invaded his house as they coo _"Mairu and Kururi, they're too cute!" _or _"I could just eat them up!"_.

He stops pretending to be popular – it's annoying and time consuming when he really should be with all humans not the insufferable clique of fan-girls that follow him around. He starts spending more time with Shinra, though, and finds him less abominable than the twins or _her_ so he tolerates him.

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His parents are out of his house most of the time, leaving him to watch the brats. It's horridly domestic and all too normal for his tastes. But he treats it like an experiment – he has two willing test subjects that will never tell on him because they're completely at his mercy.

He isn't _necessarily_ cruel – he just wants to ensure that his sisters don't turn out boring. They are, after all, mere copies and therefore mere shadows of what _could have been_ rather than what really _is_.

His younger self doesn't really realize the consequences of his actions until it's too late and the damage is done.

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Years pass and his humans keep providing him invaluable entertainment. He doesn't consciously think about _her_ – he's too busy with his experiments and observations to reserve his entire attention on one person because that would be favoritism and Izaya doesn't do favoritism. He's had a string of girlfriends – nothing more than mere puppets really – but things have never gotten far, he's never really let them _really_ touch him, of course. He keeps the charade up for a week – his longest record is nearly a week and a half – before remorselessly cutting the cord. The relationships are more like a game for him as he tries to see how the proverbial heart _ticks_.

He does not force anyone to love him – in fact; he often discourages the crowd of girls that claim to be his "biggest" fans. He knows that he will never be able to truly love someone else – he could never favor one person over the entire human race. He is satisfied by simply watching and observing.

He has no need for love.

Yet, he is fascinated by love – of how easily it destroys, of how it easily it breaks, of how easily it shatters like the jars filled with formaldehyde that Namie keeps on her shelves.


	3. Love like a Tumor

**CHILDHOOD**

**SUMMARY: **The thought of him grows like an unsightly tumor within her mind, quietly biding the time until she draws her last breath.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Damn, it's been a while. Anyhow, enjoy – it's a couple days late for Valentine's day but fuck it. [Note that this takes place a few years in the future.]

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Namie doesn't like boys.

Then again, she doesn't like girls either.

Actually, she just hates people in general – yes, _this_ description is more apt – but she observes them carefully because, in all actuality, she has nothing else left to do.

A scientist always needs specimens – and this planet is chock full of them.

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_(Namie never put much thought into boys – they seemed to be the same as girls – except for maybe her wonderful little brother Seiji. Both sexes were equally disturbed by her specimens. Both sexes were equally frivolous, trivial and horrendously stupid. They spoke of the most insipid things – and made her wish for the company of Mr. Fluffles only to remember the harsh reality of it all._

_Mr. Fluffles was no more – and she was all alone in this pathetic carcass of a world.)_

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It's really more of a fascination – at least, that's what she tells herself when she lays eyes on him for the third time that day.

The specimen's name is Shizuo Heiwajima and he has the blondest hair she's ever seen – _of course, it doesn't even compare to wonderful hair upon Seiji's head_ – and best of all, he hates the scum that is Izaya Orihara.

She's seen their battles – _it was a fully developed war, really_ – and she finds herself smiling whenever that disgusting smug look is wiped clean off Izaya's face when Shizuo lands a remarkable hit. She watches from the shadows and observes because that is what a good scientist does – but she wishes that she had someone to refer notes with.

A good experiment needs to be shared with other scientists.

Namie prides herself on no one noticing her odd behavior (the fact that she trails Shizuo is easily dismissed since he lives quite near to her – only a few blocks away, really) since everything is done methodically. Logically.

Only her mother – with her frightfully empty head – insists something else.

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_("Oh, Namie! Who's the lucky boy?" It is snack time, and Namie is quietly eating her peanut butter sandwich with milk when her mundane mother asks her the non-sequitur._

_She purposely takes her time to properly chew and swallow her morsel before dismissing the woman with a bored look._

"_C'mon, who is he?" Her mother leans over the kitchen table as though her close proximity will suddenly turn Namie into a giggling school girl that gets crushes._

"_I have no idea what you are referring to, Mother." Her slight monotone is maintained in the face of her mother's obvious judgement._

"_You're wearing that ribbon Auntie Akira gave you." Her mother remarks – clearly thinking she has the upper-hand in logic._

"_I wear it because I refuse to soil my hair during my experiments." Namie responds, just as logically._

"_Uh-huh." Her mother has a small smile on her face, "Well, when you're ready to talk Namie, I'm always here."_

_Namie refuses to respond.)_

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Unfortunately, her mother's idiotic musings aren't contained within her own household. During a subsequent visit to the Orihara household – apparently, it was the birthday of the demonic twins – results in a conversation which is more lethal than harmless.

"Namie, oh my how you've grown!" Mrs. Orihara beams despite the fact that one of the twins is shrieking up a storm.

Namie's face remains passive because she has grown exactly .053 centimeters since the last time she had seen Mrs. Orihara (which was last Tuesday).

"Yes, our little Namie will be quite the heartbreaker when she fills in." Her own mother laughs merrily (the sound is grating and Namie's lip quirks in displeasure).

"So how about it, Namie? Got your sights on someone yet?" Mrs. Orihara bends down to Namie's eye level, smiling pleasantly.

"Oh, she's got her eyes on him, alright. Last week, they were walking home together!" Her mother responds gleefully.

(Namie opens her mouth to respond that they weren't walking together – it was mere coincidence that Shizuo Heiwajima's home route was similar to that of her own. And _besides_ – she doubts that it counts if they were walking on opposite sides of the street.)

"He's – what's his name – Shizuo. You know, Namiko's son!" Her mother stumbles over his name – then again, everyone stumbles over his name because of its odd denotation.

"Oh my! He's one of Izaya's friends."

They both grin wolfishly at her – Namie averts her gaze because their combined stupidity is rolling off in _waves_.

Unfortunately, her gaze meets the eyes of the monster. His leer is matched with his sanguinely brown eyes – and _fuck, she can see her entire life flash before her eyes _– and her stomach plummets to rock bottom. She begins begging every deity in existence for mercy because she can only imagine what Izaya will do with this goldmine of information.

(And it scares her so – as her mind continues to twist realities as she contemplates his every possible course of action.)

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She holds her breath next day at school – waiting for the taunting, the teasing, and the general buffoonery which results when romantic secrets are brought to the attention of the student populace.

But everyone ignores her – just like usual. She sighs in relief, in joy, in happiness – but the suspicion soon takes hold over a corner of a brain. She has never known an instance in which Izaya didn't utilize information to his advantage – the vermin has ruined the lives of many students in their small school.

(She knows that he keeps track of the number that he has forced to leave town – to switch schools. The idiots running the school are blaming the rising anxiety of the student populace on "familial pressures". _Those morons_.)

Her mind relaxes because the danger has been avoided – at least, for now – and she strolls the halls of the school calmly with her nose buried in a pathology book. Her stupidity is punished when runs into someone, her book is cast aside and she lands gracelessly on her _gluteus maximus_.

"Hey!"

Blinking rapidly, she gazes upwards toward the immovable object meeting her not-so-unstoppable force. It is him – Shizuo Heiwajima – and he scowls at her gruffly. His eyes widen when she doesn't cower in fear or scuttle away like a coward (mostly because Namie has never really been afraid of a death by _his_ hands – Izaya is much more terrifying in her humble opinion) like the general populace. He bends over to pick up her book as she picks herself off the floor.

"Thank you." She quietly replies as she retrieves the book, silently thankful that its cover has not bent and her place has been kept by the bookmark. He nods and their brief interaction is over just as soon as it began.

Her heart is not racing but her mind is whirring with new data that must be recorded for further analysis.

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It starts with the most insufferable holiday of the year – Valentine's Day. She is forced to bear witness of her parents' foolish smiles and sighs and squeals. Her mother gives her a small box of chocolates and a knowing smile – which Namie holds at arm's length.

"It's for Shizuo; they always say the shortest way to a man's heart is his stomach." Her mother chuckles as she pinches Namie's cheek.

Namie blinks once, twice, and thrice before turning away from her mother, believing that the woman who had given her life had just sentenced her to a life of idiocy.

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That explains how she finds herself waiting at the school gates after school, clutching the insufferable pink package with trepid hands while contemplating throwing the infernal chocolates in the nearest garbage can.

She doesn't even like the boy like that – she merely admires him for hating Izaya Orihara as much as _she_ does (which, on later inspection is enough reason to give anyone chocolates).

Her wrist is suddenly grabbed and her body turns towards the offender – surprised that the monster is currently clutching her pale wrist in a death grip that would put the dead to shame (his nails make moon-shaped dents into her skin).

"Who is this for?" His grin makes her skin crawl as she tries to jerk her arm way from his claws. Her pulse speeds up as adrenaline is leaked into her bloodstream.

"It definitely isn't for you." She sneers.

Unfortunately, the years have been kinder to the monster (they are no longer the same height since he now has a good few inches over her) and the package is still painfully out of reach. He continues to leer at her and her chest grows painfully tight.

Resorting to violence, Namie slams her heel into his shin. The package clatters to the ground as he clutches his shin and hisses at her. Snatching the package, she bolts and runs as fast as her legs can carry her.

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A few streets away, she finds herself panting heavily as adrenaline courses through her veins. There is a dull throbbing pain in her wrist and she's clutching the pink heart-shaped box so hard that she's crumpled the edge.

"Hey, you okay?" A young voice barks at her and Namie takes a break from her panting to look up. It's Shizuo Heiwajima and Namie finds herself cursing the gods for the umpteenth time that day.

"Here." Her voice is soft but stoic when she finally catches her breath. "Happy Valentine's day."

His eyes widen as he takes the box. (She knows for a fact that no one's given him any chocolates for Valentine's day since she's never gotten any either.)

"Thanks." He shoves the box into his backpack before he saunters away.

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She's about to turn onto her street when she feels a dark presence behind her – it makes her hair stand on end and she shivers unconsciously.

Suddenly she finds herself trapped between Izaya Orihara and a street light. His face is so near to hers that his breath brushes against her lips lightly but dangerously. His eyes are narrowed as though he is perusing a bug under a microscope – a bug that he wishes to crushes between his palms but finds joy in torturing it slowly and thoroughly – and Namie forgets to breathe.

His face draws nearer and Namie tries to remember how long the brain can survive without oxygen.

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The metal post of the street light is cold and Namie's brain stops.

Both of their eyes stay open and she finds herself drowning in _sanguinely brown_ eyes.

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"Happy Valentine's day, Namie."

And like a ghost, he's gone – leaving her with a thunderously pounding heart and white knuckles.

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**REVIEW.**


	4. Plastic Little Doll

**CHILDHOOD**

**SUMMARY: **He's meant to break her like the cheap, plastic doll she is.

**DISCLAIMER: **I claim no ownership of the awesomeness that is _Durarara!_

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It starts innocently enough – _But then again, don't most things?_ _What things _truly_ start nefariously?_ – in true Machiavellian fashion, Izaya knows that the ends will justify the means (although even his _ends_ aren't exactly the purest and neither are his _means_).

He supposes he can say that he never really meant it to happen – he takes things slowly because it makes it worth enjoying, the boredom remains sated for _that_ much longer. He likes playing with his food, so what would make his toys any different? He has been playing this game for a while now – he knows he is the expert (the world-renowned expert, hell, _his_ name should be written in the record books). He doesn't consider himself a bully – a bully hurts others as an outlet for their own pain, often acting out for attention or upon emotional impulse or simply because they don't know any better.

Izaya doesn't have any of those excuses. He doesn't need them.

He doesn't want attention and he's not the one to have emotions (that's for his beautifulbeautifulbeautiful humans [_not to say that he doesn't feel but he's just better than that; better than _them]). As for morals, he doesn't see the need for something that will only impede him – after all, the rules aren't meant to be applied to _him_; he's not human.

It's the reason why Izaya finds social conventions tedious (tedious when they are used to compel him into doing something that he'd rather not). This particular social convention is one that dictates that children are supposed to be mindless, obedient drones that will bend over backwards at every beck and call of their _beloved_ parents.

It would explain why he's standing upon _her_ porch, holding a slightly cooled pie trying to jam the lid on his encroaching boredom. The blasted doorbell is broken and he's half tempted to do something dastardly to the dessert – they would never know, would they? (_Of course they wouldn't_!). He's busily contemplating how to place snails into the pie without breaking the crust when she opens the door.

His face contorts (almost painfully) into a jackal's smile. His expression doesn't droop nor does it intensify when he realizes that she isn't wearing her usual clothing (the dreadfully Spartan wardrobe of plain skirts and plain shirts and white socks and . . . even her _clothing_ drives him crazy with its monotony!). She's wearing a bright, yellow sundress with a pair of black Mary Jane's and a floppily, frilly hat. Her expression, of course, is nothing but neutral however her glare has that small edge of fear that whets his appetite.

He manages to push his way through the door, shoving her aside as he takes full command of the house (her parents are upstairs – and her brother is asleep [_thank the imaginary fairy in the sky_]) and it's just the two of them in the kitchen and the pie that he's supposed to deliver safe and sound.

Although he's fairly sure that she wants to trace his capillary veins with the edge of a kitchen knife, she gets him a box of juice (some weird blend of fruit that he would never bother with). She throws the box at his face and he catches it deftly because of his great hand-eye coordination. Politeness, _how utterly drab_. So he's sipping his juice and leering at her as he leans lazily against the counter. She looks pretty in a depressingly obvious and boring sort of way – he supposes. He's not quite sure what is categorized as "pretty" – he might need more research on that topic. He, of course, does not think of her as "pretty" but is merely inferring that the rest of the populace may think so – her face is nearly symmetrical, her eyes are large but vacant and flat in color, her nose is small but pointed, and her mouth is – just there. Her legs are skinny – mere twigs, really – and her hair is long but dull save for the red ribbon.

Red like the blood of his humans.

She reminds him of that doll that his sisters share – painted white though the paint is fading, chipping and exposing the cheap, plastic interior. She has color but she wears it as though the rest of the world is color blind.

He hates it, of course (_why would he feel anything else?_). He hates her.

It's not the same hatred and utter disdain that he feels for a certain Shizuo Heiwaijima – his blood boils and he can almost taste blood pooling into his mouth as he bites his mouth in fury merely thinking of the brute.

It's more of a soothingly chill indifference tainted only by a slight irritation and annoyance. She has no value to him, so he treats her much like he would a fly.

He wonders if her blood tastes bitter with a hint of sweet, sweet melancholy.

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_He clenches his jaw before shouting gleefully in his false voice, "Shizuo!" He's been practicing and he knows that his voice can carry through the entire campus if he wants it to. The rest of the student populace is carefully huddling near the school building – a large distance away from the pair since they'd soon realized that getting caught in the crossfire is a short ride to an early grave. They watch in horror and fascination – and he loves pulling reactions from them (if only it weren't for that that oaf that breathes his air – oh, how it was wasted on him!)._

_Their skirmish is brief but ends in Shizuo destroying three bikes – no one will report him, of course, because they all fear his fury (though he _does _try to avoid destroying property). Izaya is carefully hidden away from the sight of his brutish enemy when he sees something rather curious in his line of sight._

"_Hey." The blonde hellion's voice is gruff._

"_Hello." It's her, _of course_ it's her. "You're bleeding." She says it rather matter-of-factly as though the sight of it is as common as the sky._

"_Oh." The bastard does nothing._

"_If your wound becomes contaminated, please contact me. I would like to study the infection."_

_His enemy rakes his hand through his hair. "God, you're weird."_

_Namie's face is unmoving as she shoves a band aid into his face, "You're never going to catch the moron if you're constantly getting injured – make sure to clean it."_

"_Thanks." Izaya strains to hear the mutter and he fails to notice that his own elbow is bleeding – the blood is trickling down on to the floor in slow, fat drops. His fists are clenched until they become numb from the loss of circulation._

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She wears the sundress again – never at school, of course, she does have a _reputation_ to uphold even though they both know that isn't true – at his parent's barbeque one trite Saturday. Is it pride that rushes through his veins as he knows that blasted oaf won't be able to see her like this? Does he feel glee knowing that only he can bring about that wonderful combination of dread and disdain upon her otherwise stiff, doll-like features?

He sits next to her on the picnic bench – not too close but just close enough so he can feel her squirming despite the invisible boundary between them – silently and carefully. They both watch – him barely, her attentively – their respective siblings squabble and play with each other. The gargling bag has only grown up to be a bigger gargling bag but, much to his chagrin, he realizes that Namie's unhealthy obsession for her brother's well-being has only intensified in the years that he's known her. They're still too young for it to be too obvious, but he is delighted (worried?) knowing full well that Namie takes her adoration and love to the extreme (if her reaction to the death of her beloved cat was anything to go by). He is fully aware that Seiji is the only real reason why she is still here on this wonderful planet – dragging her feet along towards adulthood and eventual death.

He wonders what would have become of her if Seiji were to disappear. What would she do if her only reason for existing suddenly vanishes – leaving her in the void all alone? His thoughts are enough to prevent him from doing something too dastardly – he's too preoccupied to find the will to torture her today (he'll bide his time and wait, for now). It's only when her elbow brushes his side (accidentally but it leaves him jerking all the same) that he realizes where he is. They've exchanged little to no words since their last true encounter (though Izaya still habitually shoves dead things into her backpack when no one can catch him).

A chilling scar shapes along his face as he grins, remembering the last Valentine's day. The look on her face and her clenched fists and the white flush on her skin was enough – it had been enough for him to last quite a while. He always made it a point to revel in true, unadulterated fear – finding it to be a refreshing experience. Yes, the last time that he had seen _that_ look had been years ago – his first victim he believes.

A girl in a yellow sundress and yellow ribbon.

The look of fear on her face when she realized what he was and what he _wasn't_.

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It hits him when he's lying on his bed, eyes occasionally glancing over to his open window as he stares in her general direction.

It's something so obvious, so apparent, so _un_-boring and so magnificently unpredicted that, for a wonderful second, Izaya is surprised.

His face splits into a horrific grin as he realizes.

She had kissed him _back_.

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"Izaya?" He looks up at Shinra with a smirk. They're both lab partners for their biology class – something that Izaya is secretly thankful for.

"Hm?" He responds as he cuts open the frog.

"Have you ever fallen in love?" Izaya resists the urge to sigh and snort at the same time since he is too preoccupied with the frog to even dignify Shinra's question with a response. Knowing the other boy rather well, he knows that he will eventually begin to ramble about the love of his life – Celty. Izaya has heard the same harangue for far too long to even desire Shinra to even mention the girl. Not that he had anything against Celty – he finds her deliciously interesting actually (quite the specimen indeed) but he does not tell Shinra that.

Or perhaps he will, if _only_ to see his response.

Perhaps another day – when the boredom becomes too painful.

". . . maybe we could even go on a double date! Celty and I. You and Namie what's-her-face." His entire attention is solely focused on the dead organism that the scalpel nearly drops out of his hands from shock.

He doesn't show it though – he doesn't let the fact slip that a part of his façade has slipped (oh so momentarily). For a moment, Izaya Orihara is genuinely terrified – _how could this happen_? How could this happen when he was so careful, so careful not showing his interests – not showing his true intentions!

If there is anything that Izaya loves more than people, it's information.

"Who's that?" His voice is normal. His smirk is normal. Everything is normal.

Except it isn't.

He hasn't experienced a hole in his composure since – _ever_.

He doesn't like it when people use information against him – when people gain data from him.

He's supposed to be infallible – he's supposed to superior.

He is not one of _them_.

"You know," Shinra is positively unperturbed (probably didn't notice the very significant slip in Izaya's mask), "Namie Yagiri. She's pretty good friends with Celty."

_What?_

But Izaya was steadfast – he would not allow any more mistakes.

He _wasn't_ human, after all.

He hadn't been for a very, very, very long time.

His mind buzzed painfully – angrily – with the new information. Perhaps he had been too neglectful of his neighbor – perhaps he had gotten lazy and complacent.

And that just wouldn't do.

Not at all.

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He decides to up his game – his talk with Shinra painfully reminding him that he hadn't reached the level that he needed to be. There were still these painful _attachments _that he had to rid himself of.

He decides not to start with Namie Yagiri – not yet, he will need practice. Yes, he wants to experiment with her slowly, carefully, thoroughly.

So he picks a girl that no one will miss – because, Izaya is good at noticing what others aren't and that includes people – and the thrill begins to consume him.

Yes, animals were nothing like the real thing.

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"_The real thing?" Her voice was still, not exactly quivering but not exactly solid either. It was more like Jello™ that Namie had left out in the sun for too long, almost like a slushy-like consistency._

_His smirk grew ever wider as his dark brown eyes flushed a deep crimson, "Humans."_

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No one ever finds out – of course, they never find out. And no one suspects him – why would they? He's not well-liked but not exactly disliked either; in fact, most of his peers respect him from a distance. He's crazy but not _that_ crazy, everyone assumes.

Oh, how wonderfully foolish they all were.

Except, perhaps, _her_.

But he'll leave her for last – eagerly patient and eagerly waiting.

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**A/N:**

**I feel like I need to explain some things. First off, Izaya isn't used to people seeing underneath his mask; people aren't supposed to know what he's thinking/feeling. He's been hiding his relationship (obsession? Infatuation?) with Namie from the whole school and the fact that Shinra brings her up is too unnerving for him. Izaya's doesn't like the idea that someone can read **_**him**_** as well as he can read people. That and I thought that Izaya was being rather tame lately. There will be more on the later passages in the next chapter. I'm contemplating pushing up the rating to M only because of the mindfuckery/psychological abuse Izaya likes to inflict on his victims. If anyone starts feeling uncomfortable, please tell me! I won't hesitate to change the rating (since I really don't want this story to be removed, it's like my pride and joy).**

**Shizuo's and Namie's acquaintanceship will progress, but I assure you that this is an Izaya/Namie fic and will stay that way. I like showing my support for the few hetero crack pairings – so be warned, there will be more in the future! Celty may make an appearance later on.**

**Review?**


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